The
Birthday MassacreRaggedy AngryAdorationDingwalls, London
Thursday July 16 2009

Do
The Birthday Massacre ever stop touring?
They've been coming through London regularly for at least three years
now, on a gig-frequency that would be respectable for a British band,
and certainly counts as impressive for a Canadian outfit. But that's The
Birthday Massacre's modus operandi. That's how they build things up. They're
doing it the old fashioned way, gig by gig, town by town, country by country.
It's not a fast track route to superstardom, that's for sure, but over
time it's probably winning the band a more loyal fanbase than if they'd
rocketed to prominence as the latest media sensation - and then dropped
out of fashion just as quickly.

Certainly,
tonight's gig is packed out with eager fans. As soon as the doors open,
the Birthday Massacre Barmy Army rushes to stake out their territory at
the front, even though we've got two support bands to get through before
their heroes arrive.

Which
means that when Adoration emerge to
kick things off, they're faced with a cluster of eager eyeliner-indie
kids crowding the stage - surely a bit of a change from the band's usual
audience of old school goths, who are more likely to stand back at the
bar, supping pints and chatting to mates, until they're good and ready
to glance at the band. I dare say this crowd is quite a bit more keen
and youthful
than Adoration are used to, but that's no bad thing. In fact, the eyeliner
indie kids seem to like Adoration quite a bit, soaking up the band's meticulously
constructed gothic rock atmosphere-anthems as if it's the coolest thing
they've heard all week.

Perhaps,
for this younger crowd, it is. For while Adoration may wear their vintage
influences on their sleeve (these being, basically, The Mission, The Cure,
and The Chameleons - they even cover 'Swamp Thing' just to make sure we
get the message) it all probably sounds radical and new to a crowd who
aren't accustomed to bands that don't go 'Huuurrgghh!'

And
whaddaya know. Here comes a band that goes 'Huuurrgghh!' Rageddy
Angry are The Birthday Massacre's homies: like the headliners,
they come from Ontario, Canada. In fact, they claim on their MySpage page
to have been 'voted the most controversial band in Ontario', but as they
give no details of the election process (were United Nations observers
present?) I'd be inclined to dismiss that as a bit of shameless rock 'n'
roll hype.

In
any case, there's very little that's controversial about what Raggedy
Angry do, which is, basically, to make the aforementioned 'Huuurrgghh!'
noise while dressed up like they're attending a Marilyn Manson convention
for the under-twelves. This is, I suppose, what a lot of modern rock music
is like: spurious contoversy and a lot of formless screeching, decked
out in costumes that look like they're equal parts glam rock and joke
shop. Rageddy
Angry are probably at one with the zeitgeist in that respect, although
for me it's all a tedious racket and a hackneyed spectacle.

Mind you, I'm impressed by the way the bassist carries a torch for traditional
heavy metal values, by making comedy 'I can't hear you' gestures
at the crowd, and flipping metal fingers at all and sundry whenever he
has a chance to let go of his fretboard. The spirit of Derek Smalls burns
bright within him, obviously.

After
all that, it's a relief to welcome The Birthday Massacre on stage. For
while this band is no stranger to the sound of a boldly-struck guitar,
they never forget that fundamentally they're a pop group. That means hooks,
choruses, rousing singalongs, insistent beats - all that fine old good
stuff.

While
we may like to pretend that we're all too rad, Dad, to dig this kind of
worthily traditional songwriting schtick, let's face it, we'd miss it
if we didn't get it. So, The Birthday Massacre stand in a long line of
new-wavey pop groups, from Blondie to The Gossip; bands which match rambunctious
punkiness with a sure touch on the pop-o-meter.

Having
an engagingly feisty female singer doesn't hurt, either. Here The Birthday
Massacre score a definite hit, with their irrepressible vocallist Chibi,
a one-woman bounce machine who bounds around the stage, ponytails flapping,
as if she's just been let out into the school playground after double
maths. Meanwhile, the boys in the band set to with plenty of rock 'n'
roll gusto. Notwithstanding the fact that three out of the five male mambers
of the band are wearing neat-o skinny ties in the approved new wave manner
(and a fourth is wearing a bow tie), there's certainly a touch of scruffy
leather jackets in the guitar sound.

But
even as the guitars crank up into the rawk zone, The Birthday Massacre's
oddly melancholic pop sensibility never fails. Lend an ear to the wistful
angst of 'Falling Down', which just might be the best bit of new wave
desolation that Brian Molko never wrote, or 'Video Kid', an oddly eighties
take on techno-alienation - the song mentions a Commodore computer, a
piece of technology probably quite a lot older than many of The Birthday
Massacre's fans.

Yes,
The Birthday Massacre have all the zip and vigour of classic new wave
pop groups, and although I harbour a slight suspicion that the band has
been deliberately designed by a committee of music industry gurus to hit
all the right punky-poppy buttons, the fact remains that they do
hit 'em.

As
for me, I'm standing off to one side, watching the band and fans match
each other bounce for bounce. But my inner pop kid is right in there with
the moshers on the dance floor. That's The Birthday Massacre effect for
you right there.